"Y'know what, I considered having the debut to having background music in my promos be a badass rock song, but you three don't deserve it. Hope you dumbasses like some Game Boy Advance jazz music. Twats."


The camera fades in on Maverick, in a rocking chair next to the fireplace... and said rocking chair happens to have a cupholder. Some way. The cup in said cupholder seems to hold a cup of strong, black coffee. In one hand, Maverick holds written transcripts of the promos of the Aerial Knight, Mastermind, and Gator. In his other hand, Maverick holds a six- sided die.

"Yes, it's about that time, isn't it? Turning Point is nearly upon us, where we will see the first Pay- Per- View of the year, and a lot of other firsts being covered, at that. But I'm not here to talk about what firsts are happening at Turning Point, heavens no. I'm here to talk about the three dumbasses known as Lazarus' twin brother, Masterbitch, and the Ariel Knight."

Maverick puts the written transcripts down onto his lap, and then proceeds to take the mug that holds the scorching cup of java, and take a long, dragged out gulp.

"Ahhh. 'Blacker than a moonless night. Hotter, and more bitter than the depths of hell itself... That is coffee.' Oh, Godot, how I thank thee. Anyway, I couldn't decide which dumbass to deconstruct first, which is why I brought..."

Maverick holds up the six- sided die and hold it up to the camera.

"This here die. One and six for Lazarus' twin brother, two and five for the Ariel Knight, and three and four for Masterbitch."

After taking yet another gulp of the black, steaming cup of bitterness, Mav puts the cup of coffee away before rolling the die.

"And I get a one. Lazarus' twin brother it is."

Maverick puts away the die, along with the transcripts of Mastermind and the Aerial Knight's promos, then addresses the transcripts of Gator's promos, and the cup of hell- like warmth. Maverick holds the transcripts in one hand, and the cup of coffee in the other, occasionally taking a swig as Mav quickly skims over the trash- talking parts.

"Now, after choking out some words against Masterbitch, you turn your attention to me. You start things off by implying that I didn't do much for my first promo. I might not have gotten much done, but at least I did more than you registering a few paragraphs on my transcripts, just spouting mindless facts. Seriously, Lazarus' twin brother? What should we call you? The Special Guest Host over out on Masterbitch Television, since Masterbitch Television only seems to host past shows that just transition into snooze cruises. Moving on..."

"You go on to rant for about five minutes about how I called you Lazarus' twin brother. Seriously? You needed that long to get your point across? And I call you Lazarus' twin brother because it's true. Sure, it's been overdone to death, but who exactly decided on having their costume being Deadpool?"

"I'm waiting...."

"..."

"Thought so."

"You know what, fine. I'll throw you a bone. You are now... Lazarus' less successful and more twin! Because in all of Lazarus' time here, he managed to do one thing you cannot and will never be able to do: Defeat Azreal Erebus. Yes, the Space Cowboy that is getting Chris Benoit'd. No amount of titles can overrule that."

Maverick takes another gulp of the hellacious black, scorching liquid.

"Moving on, you question my other pressing matters, even though I had said earlier in the promo I was dealing with the- y'know what? I'm tired of talking about Un. I'm going to do you this one favor- it's a limited time offer, only for today! I am going to make like Un does not exist. I only request that you extend the same common courtesy to me. One... two... three... Poof."

Maverick raises the cup of java and takes another long gulp, only to realize he's out!

"Tch. Frank, please get me another cup of coffee, if you please."

Frank hurriedly scrambles on- screen to collect Maverick's coffee mug, only to disappear a few seconds later. The footage is sped up to Maverick tapping his foot on the ground. A few seconds of the sped- up footage later, Frank appears on- screen to give Maverick his coffee mug, and the footage returns to normal as he stumbles away. Maverick takes a long gulp of the boiling brew, then returns to speaking.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes, you claimed I did some 'boring' trash talk. Evidently, you're not showing it, as you could only fire back a counter for like what, two lines? Three? Face it- you're not exactly acting like a good Television Champion, if you're not being able to fire back some good responses against your challengers."

"Also, I know this isn't a part of your trash talk on me, but you said Mastermind doesn't have a title shot to use on any show, even though I remember quite clearly John Madison awarding Mastermind a title shot- and in the same video, he awarded Justin Sane the 24/7 briefcase. How about that?"

"What now... Ah. Scully Two. Yes, you fucking heard me. Scully Two. The same man who just can't decide on a gimmick. One week, he seems like an ordinary dude. The next? He's in a group with a business man who has his son- in- law picking up the slack, the business man's son- not the son- in- law who is doing good, mind you- a man who seems to be attracted to teenagers, and a fucking racist. The next? Dude goes fucking insane. Must have watched one of Pest's fucking sprees or some shit. The next? Dude goes back to fucking square one. It's like he can't make up his mind. And complain about dodgy officiating? The last time that happened was against Azreal Erebus, and that was like, what? A month ago? Two months? Come on now, Gator. I know the Lazarus' twin brother thing is old, but at least everything else I'm firing at you is fairly new. At least do the same for me."

"Now, the next promo. What does he have to say about me now?"

Maverick turns the page, and freezes when he sees his part. All of a sudden, he's gripping his coffee mug extremely tight, and, and, it's melting?! Dear God, Mav's flame powers must be active, and chewing through that glass like Peter Gilmour at an all- you- can- eat- buffet! Mav finally notices, and he looks extremely alarmed. He goes to the sink to put it out, but he's too late! The searing cup of coffee finally meets skin!

Maverick yelps, the sudden burst of pain causing him to trip! THE COFFEE GOES RIGHT TO HIS BALLS! Maverick is silent for what seems like the longest time, as it looks like he's in so much pain, he can't even form words. Until-

"YEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWTTTTTCCCCCHHHHH!!!"

The promo fizzles out to static, but it comes back a few seconds later, showing Maverick cradling his balls, rocking slowly back and forth, the transcripts and die on a stand for him to read off of.

"Boss, are you alright?"

"Y- Yes, Frank, I think I'm okay."

Maverick's voice was one that was fragile and very hurt, almost as if it could explode in pain at any moment.

"Anyway, onto the line that made my balls explode in pain. Gator, a fucking tumbleweed? Seriously? You couldn't do better than that?! Fuck, I'm too exhausted, I'm moving onto Masterbitch, fuck the die at this point."

"Masterbitch, you kick things off by saying you're not an orphan. Hold up, because I'm about to prove you wrong. Definition for orphan, according to Webster's Dictionary, is to be bereaved of parents. That's quite a bit weird for you're fragile brain, isn't it, Mastermind. 'Bereaved.' Well, allow me to help you out. Bereave means, to rob. Decipher it however you will, but the way I see things, you are an orphan, Mastermind. You were robbed of having parents throughout the majority of your life, thanks to your mom realizing her mistake of birthing you into this world and killing herself, and you being too much of a dumbass to not speak to your father."

"Moving onward, you try to play teacher and give me vocabulary tests, even though I've used a fucking dictionary before in my promos. Dumbass. You also said my promos are all over the place, which I don't understand. My promos are straight forward, deconstructing one dumbass at a time. Perhaps you can't string together a thought process, like how you were claiming with me!"

"What's next... You try to cushion the blow of your dumbassery by saying you already addressed the Gauntlet mistake, and how I should move on from it. DUMBASS, MY PROMO WAS UP BEFORE YOURS. I CAN'T GO BACK AND FIX THAT!"

"Next, you go onto say how I was hardly there during the 8- man tag match. BITCH, LIKE YOU WEREN'T? Your sole promo, was, like, shorter than Peter's dick. And thanks to Morbid, we know there's nothing down there. You hardly did anything throughout the match besides getting pinned with your shoulders on the mat, 1, 2, and 3. I'd've played more of a role during that match if it wasn't for that treacherous swine John Black hitting me where his hands didn't belong. Tch."

"Also, Mazzy, quick thing I wanted to point out- for those two points you attempted to deconstruct of me, you used the same footage. Seriously? You're only digging your own grave at this point."

"And now the Ariel Knight. Poor, misguided Ariel. Let's see what you started out with... Ooh, starting out feidty, aren't you? Trying to take me out from the quote down, literally. Ariel, what you've been seeing is ring rust. Tragic, yes, but being away from a ring over a period of time can do that to a man. But now, kid gloves are off. If Gator manages to somehow scrape a win over me, good for him, then I just need to increase my training regimen, and further myself one step towards being true perfection. Moving on..."

"Oh shit, I got a number wrong! Watch now, I'm gonna be like Gator and shout out a window!"

Maverick hobbles out of his seat, and opens a window.

"HEY EVERYONE! I GOT A NUMBER WRONG!"

All of a sudden, what seems to be a can is thrown through the window and hits Mav square in the balls. He's silent for a few seconds, cradling his balls, until-

"FUUUUUUUUUU-"

Then, out of nowhere, the footage fizzles out, and then we see Mav back in his chair, holding a protective cup to his sexual organs.

"Note to self- never shout out windows again."

Maverick's voice was raspy, as if he could hardly talk from all the pain to his testicles.

"Moving on..."

"Congrats, you copped out of my challenge big fucking time. I meant a woman that is not a part of your family. I mean, what disgusting sicko would call their family wenches? Tch."

"After that, you just choke out how I should go meet Frodo in the closet. No thanks, I'd prefer not getting a broom jammed up my ass. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go put some ice on my balls. Ow."

The footage fades to black.